


Open Mic Night

by Mad_Hatter_Usagi



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Grantaire sings, Idiots in Love, M/M, Piningjolras, art and stuff, open mic night, these idiots mess everything up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Hatter_Usagi/pseuds/Mad_Hatter_Usagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wanna bet?" Courf asked before he even really thought about it. He was always betting people things, and most of the time he lost and had to do something humiliating. He was confident in his friend's work though, even if he wasn't really an expert, or had seen what other people had done.</p>
<p>"What stakes?" The cyinc asked, knowing he definitely wouldn't make it.</p>
<p>"How about, if we win you have to participate in a night at the open mic here, singing and playing three songs for everyone, which are secretly dedicated to Enjolras." Jehan said, smiling at the hidden romance in the situation.</p>
<p>"And if I win?" </p>
<p>"We all three will dress up like clowns for three days and follow 'Rel around," Eponine answered, a grin on her face as she remembered the time they had went to an amusement park, and a clown had sent the large boxer running with tears in his eyes.</p>
<p>"That's so evil...I like it. It's a bet," Grantaire agreed, cackling with laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Making of the Bet

"Hey, R, I can't wait to see your painting in your teacher's showcase!" Eponine exclaimed, gripping the bottle of beer in her hand.

"You're gonna be in a showcase?" Courfeyrac asked, looking surprised that the artist didn't tell him.

"No, I'm not."

"Then what's-"

"Y'see, Courf, Jehan," the brunette began, nodding to each of the two boys across the table from her seat to Grantaire's right, "'Taire's teacher does this monthly showcase with some of her art, and some of her students' art in it. She only takes the best though, since she's moderately famous. So it takes really good stuff to get in. And this month, 'Taire's gonna make it."

"Wow, that's wonderful!" Jehan said, his eyes wide.

The drunk shook his head, "She's lying, I won't make it."

"Wanna bet?" Courf asked before he even really thought about it. He was always betting people things, and most of the time he lost and had to do something humiliating. He was confident in his friend's work though, even if he wasn't really an expert, or had seen what other people had done.

"What stakes?" The cyinc asked, knowing he definitely wouldn't make it.

"How about, if we win you have to participate in a night at the open mic here, singing and playing three songs for everyone, which are secretly dedicated to Enjolras." Jehan said, smiling at the hidden romance in the situation.

"And if I win?"

"We all three will dress up like clowns for three days and follow 'Rel around," Eponine answered, a grin on her face as she remembered the time they had went to an amusement park, and a clown had sent the large boxer running with tears in his eyes.

"That's so evil...I like it. It's a bet," Grantaire agreed, cackling with laughter.

 

* * *

Two weeks later the whole of Les Amis were spreading out slowly in the art gallery, searching for a painting that might be Grantaire's. He never let anyone see his paintings until they were put in a gallery, or one of them broke into his apartment (which had happened on several occasions). After a few minutes of looking, Courfeyrac yelped with glee and motioned the others over to a large canvas.

It pictured Eponine. She was peeking mischieviously over seven playing cards that were fanned in her fingers. She was hidden up to her cheekbones, but was obviously laughing and teasing the viewer. Her eyes were slightly glazed, drunk from the five bottles of beer resting near her left elbow as she rested against the table. Eponine's tanned skin was flushed with laughter and sheer happiness, but her long, dark hair obscured some of her forehead and cheeks with her bangs as the rest tumbled down her back.

The light in the painting shone on her strangely though, casting shadows against her beaming faces that made her look gaunt and sad. Despite her obvious glee, there was an undertone of fear and weakness that was only ever witnessed by the artist, the woman's most trusted friend. Seeing herself on canvas, she expected to feel angry with him for painting her like that, revealing her secret pain to the world. She didn't though, instead she was relieved and thankful. Somone had noticed her, and that eased her heart, as well as it made her realize that Grantaire's simple efforts were really to make her feel better.

After all, the man did fill in for her at work when she was sick or hungover, no matter how hungover he was. He made her coffee and helped her feel better. He held her hair back when she threw up. He even tried to help however he could when she was crushing heavily on Marius, who obviously wasn't interested. Grantaire had helped her through her heartbreak, which the puppy was blissfully ignorant of, by sitting with her through a Harry Potter marathon with ice cream, cookie dough, and loads of chocolate.

After everyone was finished gaping, they turned to see the artist behind them, looking at the painting with a scowl. Eponine rushed forward and embraced him tightly, burrying her face in her roommate's neck as tears pricked at her eyes. Grantaire was given loud praise, much to the annoyance and anger of the other people in the gallery.

Enjolras turned back to the painting, staring at the soft brush strokes and warmth of it all. Although he hadn't ever really been interested in art, not to say he didn't understand the beauty of it, he thought that perhaps this painting was his favorite. He wondered what it would look like if the artist's muse had been him, although now that it was in his mind, he thought that he'd probably be portrayed as a failure, speaking to the deaf ears of the people, who could be likened to lemmings.

Oh, how little he knew.

 

* * *

  
A few days later, a Wednesday, the weekly open mic at the Musain, there was a meeting that Courfeyrac had easily convinced Enjolras and Combeferre to have. He'd said they needed to go over what they were going to say for the next rally, so everyone gathered in the back room of the Musain. Except Grantaire, who was missing for the whole hour and a half. The fearless leader noticed, and glanced over at the vacant spot between Bahorel and Joly, that the artist usually held, throughout the meeting.

When it was over, the group migrated to the front for some beers. They gathered at the bar as a red-headed woman in her late twenties exited the stage. This was when Grantaire stood up from the small booth in the corner, taking his battered guitar case with him up to the stage. Eponine, Courfeyrac, and Jehan were the only ones in the know about his performance, so the others stared unabashedly at their friend who calmly removed his guitar from the case.

Eponine wolf-whistled as he brushed a few curly locks from out of his eyes, sat down in the wooden chair, and spoke into the microphone. "Uh, so I lost a bet, and here I am. I'm gonna be playing three songs, some that I modified, then I'll be out of your hair."

And with that, he started picking at the strings softly, craning his neck to look down at his battered guitar. Grantaire had painted it with green and yellow swirling vines that curled over the sides and wrapped around the pickups. He looked up, his eyes panning over his group of friends who stood at the bar, gazing at him with wide, or pleased, eyes. He stopped on Enjolras for a moment too long before looking back down at his guitar and beginning to sing into the microphone.

_"Love me tender,_   
_Love me sweet,_   
_Never let me go._   
_You have made my life complete,_   
_and I love you so._

_Love me tender,_   
_Love me true,_   
_All my dreams fulfilled._   
_For my darling, I love you,_   
_and I always will."_

Enjolras gripped the bar, his fingers turning white, as he gazed reverently at the man with the golden voice, a strange reverse from the usual. He wondered briefly what the feeling in his chest was, why his heart fluttered like it did. Dismissing the thought, he closed his eyes and listened intently.

_"Love me tender,_   
_Love me deep,_   
_Tell me who am I._   
_I'll be yours through all the years,_   
_'til the end of time._

_Love me tender,_   
_Love me true,_   
_All my dreams fulfilled._   
_For my darling i love you,_   
_and I always will._

_Love me tender,_   
_Love me true,_   
_All my dreams fulfilled._   
_For my darling i love you,_   
_and I always will..._   
_always will..."_

At the end of that song, Grantaire looked up briefly, looking for approval in his friends' faces. Eponine was wringing her hands and looking like she wanted to tackle him with a hug like she did at the gallery a few days prior. Jehan looked close to tears as he gripped Courfeyrac's hand tightly. Courf was staring at Enjolras, a little smirk that looked like trouble etched on to his face. The leader's eyes had fluttered open at the end of the song, and now he was smiling softly back at Grantaire.

The artist looked over at an old man who was scheduled to come on after him. "Hey can I borrow your guitar?" He asked, nodding to the electric that was plugged in, in the corner. When the man nodded, Grantaire set his guitar down and picked up the electric yellow Flying-V. It wasn't really his thing, but the man looked vaguely like a hair-band throwback.

Grantaire tuned it quickly, changed the setting on one of the pedals at his feet, then grinned at Enjolras. The smile made the young revolutionary feel like something headache inducing was about to happen.

When the chords began, Enjolras rolled his eyes and scowled ruefully at the man on stage. Because of course he would play this song ironically.

_"I thought love was_   
_Only true in fairy tales_   
_Meant for someone else_   
_But not for me_   
_Love was out to get to me_   
_That's the way it seems_   
_Disappointment haunted_   
_All my dreams_

_And then I saw his face_   
_Now I'm a believer_   
_Not a trace_   
_Of doubt in my mind_   
_I'm in love_   
_I'm a believer_   
_I couldn't leave him_   
_If I tried_

_I thought love was_   
_More or less a given thing_   
_But the more I gave the less_   
_I got, oh yeah_   
_What's the use in trying_   
_All you get is pain_   
_When I wanted sunshine_   
_I got rain_

_And then I saw his face_   
_Now I'm a believer_   
_Not a trace_   
_Of doubt in my mind_   
_I'm in love_   
_I'm a believer_   
_I couldn't leave him_   
_If I tried_

_What's the use in trying_   
_All you get is pain_   
_When I wanted sunshine_   
_I got rain_

_And then I saw his face_   
_Now I'm a believer_   
_Not a trace_   
_Of doubt in my mind_   
_I'm in love_   
_I'm a believer_   
_I couldn't leave him_   
_If I tried_

_Then I saw his face_   
_Now I'm a believer_   
_Not a trace_   
_Of doubt in my mind_   
_Now I'm a believer_   
_Yeah, yeah, yeah_   
_Yeah, yeah, yeah_   
_I'm a believer_   
_I'm a believer_   
_I'm a believer"_

Eponine was leaning against one of the tables, smothering her laughter against a bottle and her hand. Combeferre was trying to hide his smile from the glaring Enjolras, which made Grantaire laugh away from the mic.

"One more song, and I'll be done, promise," Grantaire spoke into the mic as he set the other guitar down and picked up his own again. Slow, repeating, little waves of notes began to come out of that battered guitar held in the musician's hands.

_"I've heard there was a secret chord_   
_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_   
_But you don't really care for music, do you?_   
_It goes like this_   
_The fourth, the fifth_   
_The minor fall, the major lift_   
_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_   
_You saw her bathing on the roof_   
_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_   
_She tied you to a kitchen chair_   
_She broke your throne, and she cut your hair_   
_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Baby I have been here before_   
_I know this room, I've walked this floor_   
_I used to live alone before I knew you._   
_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_   
_Love is not a victory march_   
_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_There was a time when you let me know_   
_What's really going on below_   
_But now you never show it to me, do you?_   
_And remember when I moved in you_   
_The holy dove was moving too_   
_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Maybe there’s a God above_   
_But all I’ve ever learned from love_   
_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you_   
_It’s not a cry you can hear at night_   
_It’s not somebody who has seen the light_   
_It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_You say I took the name in vain_   
_I don't even know the name_   
_But if I did, well, really, what's it to you?_   
_There's a blaze of light in every word_   
_It doesn't matter which you heard_   
_The holy or the broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_I did my best, it wasn't much_   
_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_   
_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_   
_And even though it all went wrong_   
_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_   
_With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_   
_Hallelujah..."_

And as his voice quieted, he smiled softly at his awed audience. The room filled with applause, and ecstatic cheering. Grantaire's cheeks flushed from embarrassment as he gathered his guitar in the case and stepped to the Musain's floor. Courfeyrac took the guitar from him as he was led by his friends to the bar, where he was bought a drink.

When everything calmed down about an hour later, Enjolras took a seat next to him at the bar. For a few minutes, there was a comfortable, easy silence between them. The few inches between them felt like too far, not that either of them would admit it. Finally though, Enjolras spoke.

"I didn't know you were that good."

"I'm not-"

"No, you are," the blond persisted. "You were really really good. Even though you did play that second song..."

Grantaire barked a laugh and teased, "I thought you'd like it."

Enjolras's wry little smile coupled with Grantaire's glee made them both dissolve into laughter, quieter now so that the others wouldn't question why their leader was having polite, finally good conversation with the resident cynic.


	2. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras comes by to pick up some pamphlets and posters from the artist, and asks for a song. Things go a little south.

The next night, Grantaire was alone in his and Eponine's apartment. She'd gone out to get hammered with Bahorel and Feuilly. He had a paper due the next day in Classics, and he was only halfway done, so Grantaire had stayed behind. It was around ten, and he still hadn't started though, opting for a marathon of Sherlock episodes in a pair of green and yellow plaid boxers and a black t-shirt instead.

His cell phone rang, and he picked up after two rings. "Hello?" He said.

"Good evening, Grantaire. I'm near your apartment, can I come up and get the poster and pamphlet designs for the rally on Saturday?" Enjolras's voice asked.

"Oh- um- yeah, sure. I'll buzz you up when you get here," he stammered, hopping up from the ugly, but plush, red couch.

"I'm about a block and a half away. See you soon," the revolutionary replied before hanging up.

Grantaire dashed back to his bedroom, pulling on a pair of black jeans and running his fingers through his dark curls. When the doorbell rang, the artist hurtled back through the apartment and buzzed Enjolras up. A minute later he was opening the door for the blond leader.

Enjolras looked around the small apartment's living room, to the freeze-frame on Irene Adler, to the messy kitchenette, to the rumpled blankets on the couch. So comfortable and relaxed, but dark and sad, just like Grantaire and Eponine.

"The designs...?" Enjolras asked.

"Oh! Yeah, lemme get them!" Grantaire exclaimed, ripping his stare away from the blonde's tight jeans and red blazer. He went back to his studio, down the hall on the left, and returned with a couple large stacks of pamphlets and posters. "Usually it's Courf or Combeferre who get this stuff," he commented.

"Combeferre's working on an essay and getting us permits for another protest, and Courfeyrac's been a little...occupied with Jehan recently," Enjolras said, his cheeks pinkening slightly as he thought of what his two friends have been doing frequently, and loudly. Grantaire's loud laughter warmed his insides, making him feel nice.

His eyes wandered across the living room again as Grantaire passed the papers over to him. They settled on his guitar, which sat in the armchair by the television. "Hey, um, can you play me a song?" He asked, nodding toward the instrument.

Grantaire looked back at the battered guitar, paused in thought, then nodded. "Sure, any requests?"

"No, just...anything. I like it when you sing. You're so good," Enjolras admitted, moving to sit on the couch, the piles of papers sat on his lap.

The dark-haired man stood paralyzed as he tried to reassemble his thoughts. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew it was a bad idea. As he strode across the room, picked up the guitar, and sat in the armchair, his mind was already made up on what he was sure was the stupidest idea he'd ever had. His fingers strummed the strings for a few moments before he began.

_"Love of mine_   
_one day you will die_   
_but I'll be close behind_   
_ill follow you into the dark_

_no blinding lights_   
_or tunnels to gates of white_   
_just our hands clasped so tight_   
_waiting for a hint of a spark_

_if heaven and hell decide_   
_that they both are satisfied_   
_illuminate the "no's" on their vacancy signs_

_if there's no one beside you_   
_when your soul embarks_   
_I will follow you_   
_into the dark_

_In revolutionary school_   
_as vicious as Musain rule_   
_I got my feelings bruised_   
_by the leader in red_

_and I propped the bar_   
_as he told me "R,_   
_You're good for nothing, fool"_   
_and I heard every word that he said_

_so if heaven and hell decide_   
_that they both are satisfied_   
_illuminate the "no's"_   
_on their vacancy signs_

_if there's no one beside you_   
_when your soul embarks_   
_i will follow you_   
_into the dark_

_I will follow you-_

_if heaven and hell decide_   
_that they both are satisfied_   
_illuminate the "No's"_   
_on their vacancy signs_

_if theres no one beside you_   
_when your soul embarks_   
_i will follow you_   
_into the dark_   
_i will follow you_   
_into the dark"_

As the song ended, Grantaire looked up from his guitar to see Enjolras's stricken face. He looked like someone had just smacked him. Finally, finally, the golden god of a man could see what was right in front of him for years. The cynical artist was in love with him, and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't get out anything, all the words that worked so well for him during protests, rallies, and meetings at the Musain, they were all gone.

Grantaire looked like he instantly regretted everything. "I-I'm sorry, I-" He was cut off by Enjolras jumping to his feet and fleeing the apartment, leaving the drunk there alone, still holding the painted guitar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song:  
> "Into the Dark" - George Blagden
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr at:  
> fandomsoverloadmyfeels
> 
> This chapter was a bit shorter, but the next one should be longer. I used this to ignore my Algebra II and AP US Government homework, so you should be grateful.


	3. The Return of the Cynic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is back with a mysterious blonde girl. What does this mean? It means two more songs!

Enjolras paced around his apartment, biting his thumbnail as he did. He'd apologize tomorrow, he thought. He couldn't say sorry about something like that over the phone, he'd just make himself look afraid, he thought. The terrified revolutionary wanted to admit his own feelings, which he had come to terms with on the train back to his apartment.

He wasn't stupid, he knew that things were going to get a little worse before they got better. Grantaire would probably try to ignore him now, or get others to act as go-betweens. He'd probably be silent at the get-together tomorrow. He probably would just drink in the corner as the rest of them got ready for the rally.

"It'll be fine, you just have to talk to him. That's never been an issue before..." Enjolras muttered as he walked back to his bedroom, collapsing on his bed. He hadn't realized how exhausted he was. As he fell asleep, he wondered what he would say to the artist.

* * *

Walking into the Corinthe the next night, Enjolras looked around for Grantaire. All he saw was his friends gathered around a mildly hysterical Eponine. His feet carried him over to the distressed girl, who was being handed a bottle of brown liquor by Bahorel.

"Thanks," she muttered in a shaky voice before pressing the glass to her lips and gulping half of it down quickly.

"What's wrong?" The blond asked, cocking his head to the left a bit.

Courfeyrac looked over at him, worry in his eyes. "Grantaire up and left. He's gone, and he didn't leave any way of contacting him. We have no clue where he is."

"How did he-?"

Eponine cut him off, her voice stable now. "Most of his clothes are gone, he took his favorite easel, his best paints, half of our cash stash, a box of poptarts, his guitar, and the picture of his sister. He only takes the picture of his sister when he's leaving for a really long time," the brunette's voice cracked and she wiped her tears on her sweatshirt, one of Grantaire's old ones that was half-covered in paint, one that he would definitely leave behind.

"When did-" Enjolras began again, only to be interrupted again.

"Last night, before I came home. I was back 'round one. 'Rel and Feuilly took me home, and we saw that 'Taire's phone and his key were on the counter. I-I don't know why he would do it...but he's gone. I've already called his sister and his parents and a couple of his old boyfriends, but all of 'em said that they haven't heard from him."

"How long have you known him?" Jehan asked gingerly, "Has he ever done something like this before. We've only known him a few years, so..."

"I met him when he was in his Junior year of high school, and he didn't mention his other friends much. He did hang out with other people...but I don't think he'd contact them. I mean- he promised not to after everything-"

"What happened?" Combeferre asked curiously. Enjolras was sitting against one of the tables, staring just above Eponine's head, dazed by the disappearance of his- the artist.

"He overdosed on heroine. He was hanging out with this older guy, Montparnasse, he was about twenty at the time, and his friends. I dated him briefly, and so did 'Taire. Montparnasse was this drug dealer, and he got 'Taire hooked, bad. I mean, I know I have my vices, but nothing like what he was doing. It was all just to get out of the house, 'cause of his parents being like they were.

"One night he promised to meet me at midnight, so we could watch a season of Friends like we used to, but he didn't. So I went over to Monty's house to see if he was there. Well 'Taire was OD'd on the couch, and Monty and his friends were tripping in the basement. So I called 911 and got 'Taire out of there. He went through rehab and promised never to touch anything like that again, or see Montparnasse again. It took awhile to get him to leave us alone and stop tempting 'Taire, but finally we were both over it."

"Maybe we should call, just to check if he's seen him," Combeferre suggested calmly.

"I refuse to talk to the douchebag, but he's still in my contacts, so call him if you want," Eponine said, resigned to it, as she handed her cell over.

Bahorel grabbed it from 'Ferre and hit the send on Montparnasse's contact. As an afterthought, he put it on speaker. After a few rings, a gruff voice asked, "'Lo? 'Ponine? That you?"

"Nah, but I'm a friend of hers. Was wondering if you'd heard from Grantaire recently," Bahorel answered.

"Oh, this is about R? He said you might call. He was over here a couple hours ago, said I owed him money. I gave him some cash and he left. Didn't even touch the merch I offered," the dealer said, sounding slightly annoyed. "Who knew R could stay sober?"

"You talked to him?" Feuilly exclaimed.

"He didn't say much, just that he needed to get out'a the country for a while. Said he was heading to France, had a friend there 'pparently. Looked real messed up. I'm really surprised he didn't take the drugs," Montparnasse answered boredly.

"Why would you offer a recovering addict drugs?!" Jehan burst behind his trembling hands, his eyes teary from worry.

There was a booming laughter from the other end of the line before the dealer answered, "It's how I make my money. Anyway, he didn't say anything specific, just said France. Oh! He also said to tell you somthing, but only if you called."

"What?" Eponine asked, scrambling up from her seat to grab the phone.

"Damn...where is it... He left a note, because he knew I'd forget. He said he left to quick and didn't wanna talk to anyone...damn where the fuck is that- Oh there it is!" Montparnasse said.

"What does it say?" Courfeyrac called anxiously.

"Oh wait, that's my friend's doodle...not it...not it... Okay, this time it definitely is his," the dealer said surely.

"WHAT DOES IT SAY?!" Eponine shrieked.

"Okay...um, 'Sorry about last night. I have to be alone for a while to get my head straight. Going to visit a friend.' Hah! That kid's so gay he couldn't get his head straight with a steam roller."

Enjolras gulped, thinking about the obvious message to him in the note. He didn't, however, speak up about what happened.

"Thanks, Monty," Eponine said quietly, ending the call before the other man could say anything.

There was a moment of quiet before Feuilly asked the question on everyone's minds. "What does he mean, 'sorry about last night'? Who was with him last night?"

This was met with silence.

"He might mean sorry as in 'Sorry I totally up and left you guys last night'?" Joly suggested.

"Or 'Sorry I didn't get to go out drinking with you guys last night'?" Bousset said a moment later.

There were several noncommital nods before Combeferre spoke up, "Well, it seems like Grantaire has left for a little while. We might as well continue on-"

"I'm not feeling well," Enjolras spoke up, quickly. "I think I might just go home for the night, I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"You never take days off though. What's wrong?" Courfeyrac said, taking a step closer to the blond man.

"I'm not feeling up to anything. I think I might be sick," he said, turning toward the door and walking out before anyone else could question him.

* * *

Three months later, Grantaire still wasn't back. Everyone had noticed the not-so-subtle change in Enjolras. How he'd look at the corner. How he'd keep all of the old, unused posters and pamplets tacked on the wall of his room. How he started listening to the songs he'd heard Grantaire play on repeat for hours. He could barely finish his speeches without tearing his own argument apart.

It was obvious that he missed him, yet it was a taboo subject. If Grantaire was mentioned within hearing range of Enjolras or Eponine, they'd haver sudden mood swings. Enjolras would act like nothing in the world mattered, exempting liberty for the masses, and talk over anyone who mentions the blue-eyed musician. Eponine would punch the person who mentioned him in the face. Everyone had learned not to speak of him.

Thankfully, Les Amis had chipped in paying Grantaire's half of the rent so Eponine could keep their apartment and have things to eat as well. They'd helped her in any way possible, but she didn't take advantage of them. At any chance she got, she'd make them dinner, or drinks, or help them out in any way possible. This generally had her thrown headfirst into riots at protests.

One Wednesday night, as normal as any other, when they were gathered for a meeting, the door burst open. The cool March air blew in as a beautiful, but plain, girl with white-blonde hair led in a man with dark, curly hair and a guitar case strapped to his back. The man spoke softly, hesitantly, but she simply giggled away his protests and tugged him farther into the cafe.

And suddenly Enjolras's speech was stopped as he stared open-mouthed at the dark-haired man. The man who was smiling fondly at the blonde-haired girl. The man who's hair was perhaps an inch or two longer than when they'd last seen each other, in late December. The man whose fingers were stained gold and red. The man who was tugging his bangs down to hide his eyes from Enjolras's imploring eyes.

Then everyone was turning to see Grantaire with the unknown beauty. Marius looked smitten instantly, his eyes widened and his mouth a little bit open with a hint of a smile. Everyone was frozen in their place. No one knew what to do.

The girl smiled and sent a little finger-wave towards Les Amis, turning to Grantaire with a joking, scandalized look. "You didn't tell me they were all so pretty, 'Taire."

That got him laughing, a good, easy laugh that relaxed everyone. Still, no one could move. "Well, I could hardly tell you about my gorgeous friends with your dad being so overprotective, now could I? He'd skin me if I mentioned that you might be interested in a boy," he answered.

Blondie giggled and shoved him playfully. "Now go get on stage. I went through all that trouble of secretly booking you a set, now go play me some music. I'll go introduce myself to your friends while you're getting set up."

Grantaire engulfed her in a hug, beginning a short, almost inaudible conversation. "I'm scared," he murmured.

"You'll do fine."

"But- I haven't...it's Enjolras."

"Didn't you say he liked listening to you play? I'm sure he'll be okay," the girl answered.

"You think so?"

"I know so, 'Taire."

"You're a great friend, 'Sette."

"I know. And you're a great guy, so don't worry."

They broke the hug and went their separate ways. Grantaire to the stage, and the girl towards the group of friends. She sat in a chair next to Enjolras like she belonged there and smiled up at the standing blond. Grantaire relaxed on the wooden chair and began to tune his guitar.

"Hello, my name is Cosette. Me and 'Taire used to be friends when we were younger, but I moved to France in our Sophomore year of highschool. We still email and call each other every once in a while. He was with me these past months, in case you were wondering," Cosette said.

"What?"

The blonde girl took Enjolras's hand and pat it sarcastically, "Oh honey, why don't you sit down." When he did, Cosette almost growled, "'Taire's gonna play you a set, yes I _know who you are_ , Enjolras, and you better listen close and understand what he's trying to say."

Everyone gaped as Enjolras nodded, wide-eyed, and turned to look at Grantaire intently. Usually the young revolutionary doesn't take kindly to orders, but he was being so meek in the face of the returned artist. Cosette took a few minutes to get a basic understanding of everyone's names and told them some of the things Grantaire had mentioned about them. She didn't reveal why the cynic had left though, she was tight-lipped when asked.

"Ahem...Um, it's been a while since I've been back here. I'm gonna play a couple of songs, so, uh, I hope you like them," Grantaire stammered. For some reason he hated the explanation part. It wasn't smooth and easy, it was awkward and ridiculous.

Enjolras bit his lip as the first song began.

" _Is there something that you see_  
 _In the way you look at me?_  
 _There's a smile, there's a truth in my eyes._

_But an unexpected way_  
 _On that unexpected day_  
 _Could it mean I lose where I belong_  
 _It is you I have loved all along_

_It's no more mystery_  
 _It is finally clear to me_  
 _You're the home my heart searched for so long_  
 _And it is you I have loved all along_

_There were times I ran to hide_  
 _Afraid to show the other side_  
 _Alone in the night without you_

_But now I've lowered my guard_  
 _And you know you hold my heart_  
 _I don't know if it's where I belong_  
 _But it's you I have loved all along_

_It's no more mystery_  
 _It is finally clear to me_  
 _You're the home my heart searched for so long_  
 _And it is you I have loved all along_

_Over and over_  
 _I'm filled with emotion_  
 _My love, it rushes through my veins_

_And I am filled_  
 _With the sweetest devotion_  
 _As I, I look into your perfect face_

_It's no more mystery_  
 _It is finally clear to me_  
 _You're the home my heart searched for so long_  
 _And it is you I have loved_  
 _It is you I have loved_  
 _It is you I have loved all along._ "

There was a short pause where Grantaire rolled his eyes in an over-exaggerated manner. "Just so you know, Cosette said she'd castrate me if I didn't make my own cover of this and play it," He said, and as if on cue, once the opening chords, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Bahorel burst into hysterical laughter, clutching their sides and cackling.

" _I'm so glad you made time to see me._  
 _How's life, tell me how're Les Amis?_  
 _I haven't seen them in a while._  
 _You've been good, busier then ever._  
 _We small talk, work and the weather_  
 _Your guard is up and I know why._

_Cause the last time you saw me_  
 _Is still burned in the back of your mind._  
 _I sang a song and you left me there to die._

_So this is me swallowing my pride,_  
 _Sitting in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night,_  
 _And I go back to December all the time._  
 _Turns out living ain't nothing but missing you,_  
 _Wishing that I realized what I had when you were blind._  
 _I'd go back to December, turn around and make it all right._  
 _I go back to December all the time._

_These days I haven't been sleeping_  
 _Staying up playing back you leaving,_  
 _When your birthday passed and I didn't call._  
 _And I think about summer, all the beautiful times_  
 _I watched you speaking from the bar with some wine_  
 _Realized I loved you in the fall._  
 _Then the cold came, the dark days when fear crept into my mind._  
 _I messed everything up and we said our a goodbyes_

_So this is me swallowing my pride,_  
 _Sitting in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night._  
 _And I go back to December all the time._  
 _Turns out living ain't nothing but missing you,_  
 _Wishing that I realized what I had when you were blind._  
 _I'd go back to December turn around and change my own mind._  
 _I go back to December all the time_

_I miss your tan skin, your bright smile, so good to me, so right,_  
 _And how you held me in your arms that September night,_  
 _Carrying a drunk home that night._  
 _Maybe this is wishful thinking,_  
 _Probably mindless dreaming_  
 _I'm sorry, is there a way to make this right?_  
 _I'd go back in time and change it but I can't_  
 _So if the chain is on your door, I understand._

_But this is me swallowing my pride,_  
 _Sitting in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night,_  
 _And I go back to December._  
 _Turns out living ain't nothing but missing you,_  
 _Wishing that I realized what I had when you were blind._  
 _I'd go back to December turn around and make it alright._  
 _I'd go back to December turn around and change my own mind._  
 _I go back to December all the time._ "

And as the final notes died, Grantaire shifted his guitar from his lap, to the case on the floor. He quickly packed up, slung the case over his shoulder, and walked out of the cafe. Cosette was too wrapped up in a staring contest/love gaze with Marius to notice. Everyone else was frozen to their seats. It was a group "how the fuck are we going to handle this we don't even know what's going on what the ever-loving-fuck?!" Except for Enjolras.

The blond was standing, pushing past the tables and chairs, shoving the door open, and running down the street to catch Grantaire before he hopped in a cab. The great, but terrible, man slammed the cab door before the artist could step in, pulling him away from the awaiting car and pushing him against the brick wall of a corner store.

When Grantaire was about to speak, Enjolras placed his hand over his mouth and spoke urgently. "No. No, no, no, no, no. I was the one to leave last time, and I shouldn't have, and it was the worst decision I ever made. Worse than the times I left Courf organize any party ever. Worse than the time I let Bahorel be in charge of talking to the police for us a a protest, so we wouldn't get arrested. Worse than when I got Joly to look at Marius after he got injured in a protest, since he was diagnosed with prostate cancer on sight. I don't want either of us to leave. I want us to be here, together, and if you leave I'll break."

"But-"

"I love you, Grantaire. I realized that on the way home from your apartment that night, and I wanted to tell you in person, but then you were gone the next day and I didn't know what to do. Three-fucking-months you complete asshole!" Unexpected tears drizzled down his cheeks.

"I-"

"Shut up. Can I finally kiss you now?" At Grantaire's gobsmacked nod, Enjolras leaned forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

When they pulled apart, Enjolras's hellish fury had calmed and he'd relaxed. Grantaire smiled softly before pulling him into another kiss, deeper this time. Every ounce of tension in their stressed, exhausted bodies. Even when they heard the snap of camera phones and friendly giggles and catcalls from their so-called friends, they continued milking every last missed moment between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> "It Is You (I Have Loved)" - Dana Glover  
> "Back to December" - Taylor Swift
> 
> My Tumblr:  
> fandomsoverloadmyfeels  
> Yes, I take prompts, and I'd love it if you sent me some! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Songs:  
> "Love Me Tender" - Nora Jones  
> "I'm A Believer" - Smash Mouth  
> "Hallelujah" - Rufus Wainwright (I suggest looking up the version GBlags did too, because it's so fab)
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr at:   
> fandomsoverloadmyfeels


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